A Wingless Bird
by Robina Snyder
Summary: Karasu sits in his room and waits for the Dark Tournament, contemplating why he hates ideas, likes his cloak, and enjoys imaginary lovers. Real fun stuff. Just a short drabble, enjoy.


A/N: So, another Karasu-centered fic. I finished re-watching the Dark Tournament, and I just finished my favorite episodes (the ones after the Dark Tournament where Yusuke gets captured… I just love them!) I have about three little Karasu centered fics planned out. In reality they could all probably go together, but whatever.

Karasu isn't necessarily a crow demon, but it actually fits with my own personal cannon. This idea of Crow demons is a combination of my own type of demons (who are based on YYH demons before I went nuts with them), and the crow from Tamora Pierce's _Trickster Series_. This one, like the last one is inspired by Karasu's clothing. The last one came from the _Pince-nez_, or little nose glasses on his mask (which is just so cute to me for some reason), and this one comes from the batman-like cloak he has attached to his jacket.

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Towers, towers, towers. I hate towers. I hate mine especially. What kind of mind creates a tower so near the sky but gives it now windows. I'm not sure if the Toguro's had it special made for me or if their little house came with it. Either way, when I die I plan to find the designer and kill him all over again if he isn't dead already. I can wait, I'm patient enough. I've already waited forty years.

I can be very patient when I want to be. I have to be very patient now. I will see the sunlight again soon. Birds aren't meant to be locked up. I seem to remember someone quoting a poem at me the last time I was around humans. "I know why the caged bird sings," he said. He'd been high on something, and had annoyed me past my tolerance at that moment, but I remembered that part of the poem. Maybe if I ever get my freedom I'll fill in the rest… maybe, it's not that important. I've never been one for poetry. I don't like things I can't contain or control.

You can control a person, or at least kill them, the final act of control before controlling your memories. You can't control an idea. You can't control a poem, or a color, or a song. I have no interest in such things. If I have something I want it to be mine alone where it can never be taken from me.

Maybe if I'd known that when I was younger it wouldn't have hurt so bad to lose my wings. Conventional wisdom is that a bird without its wings is nothing, but I learned long ago that you can survive on nothing, with nothing. Survival for its own sake is a beauty unto itself. If you can force your opponent into the corner, where they fight simply to survive, there is a beauty in that no matter how ugly the opponent actually is. And that's much more fun than simply killing someone from behind.

I hate this tower, I hate my confinement. It's all black. I hate black. I don't hate black. I hate darkness. I hate shadows, I hate the never ceasing night I've been forced into for forty years, a night broken by occasional glimpses of sunlight, stolen furtively, and often punished for the theft. The Dark Tournament is coming up soon, and I will be fighting this year, this is what I'm told. If I win my match I will be given a chance to fight for my freedom.

A slave cannot simply challenge his master, he must be given permission first. I've had permission in the past, but I've not won, not yet. One win and I have my freedom. One win and I can go back to my old life. No, that's not right. One win and I can get away from here and do… something else. I'm not sure what yet. I want to see the sunrise, and I don't particularly want to be bored. I'll figure something out.

I hate ideas. I hate things I can't control, things I have no control over. I love words, they are the tools of my craft, and my craft is manipulation. Demons and humans think they control their own fate, but they don't realize that they're every bit as enslaved as I am: by their job, or their family, or their country, or their media. They are controlled by money, and by love, and by ideas. They are controlled by fashion and hunger and fear. I want to control myself, I want to control others. It's not hard, the second one. The first is more complicated than I first expected when I ran away from my family.

The funniest thing is that, though I know they searched hard for me I will never be welcomed back even if they find me now. I'm a crow with no wings. Oh, they wouldn't know at first, Crow demons are the only bird types that can naturally hide their wings. I was told once it was because of an old legend where the first humans were born from crows. I don't know, nor do I care, but I know that I would not be allowed to stay once it became obvious that I had no wings.

Birds are… particular in certain things, mainly in their need to protect the hideously plain creatures we call our breeding females. Crows look the same mostly, but normal birds have beautiful males and boring females. I have no interest in a society based on female superiority, but controlled by men. I out cast myself, but the Toguro's made it official. Only birds who have committed heinous crimes, generally against females, have their wings removed. I have done many things, but never one to warrant the punishment I received, not by my race's status.

Funny isn't it?

I lay on the floor, no point in lying on the bed. I'm just biding my time until it's time to go. Knowing that I will see daylight again, knowing that I will see open air again… it's a beautiful kind of torture. Birds are supposed to fly in the daylight. So what does a bird who cannot fly do when faced with the open air? Bitter weeping comes to mind, but I am far past that point. I am not a Crow demon anymore. I am a bomb maker. I am not a bird. I am a slave. I am not what I once was. I am Karasu.

I cannot fly anymore, but I don't need to. My hand reaches out to stroke the cape that is part of my coat. Wide, wonderfully strong material, and dark, dark like my old wings. I cannot fly, but I can jump, and I can glide because of this cloak. It was not a kindness that made my captors gave it to me, and I feel no love for them for the giving of it… but yes, I suppose I do love it.

I do not love it as I did my wings, as they were merely an extension of my old, naive self. I do not love it in the way I love people. I love it in that it's are useful, and mine, and too useful for the Toguros to consider taking it from me this close to the Dark Tournament. I am excited for this, a chance at sunlight, a chance to touch the free open sky again. A chance maybe to find a new love. My last girlfriend was so beautiful, and wonderfully human. I don't remember her name anymore. She stood up to me before I killed her, so I kept her in my mind.

The love in your mind is better than what is real. Your imaginary friends won't betray you. Your love interest won't find someone else. Your girlfriend won't cheat on you. The Toguros can't touch them. Death can't touch them. They exist for all time, in your mind, with you, and you are not alone. They aren't wings you can clip. They are wonderfully solid and nonexistent, and no one can steal them, and you can control them. Yes, that, I think, is real love.

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A/N: A little bit affected by fanfictions you've read recently? Possibly. Oh well, I love you, you wonderful nutcase. Tune in next time to see Karasu after the battle.


End file.
